The StickFigure Santa Claus
by Twilts
Summary: Hermione is distracted from notetaking by Ron, and sends a different kind of notes. It's a 10 days before Christmas fic. For Sceltina. RHr Oneshot.


**Note:** This is for Sceltina for our personal little fic exchange. Sorry for the crappiness. I've no editor, you see. : )

_T_heme: Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/etc.

_D_ue: Dec. 31st

**_T_he _S_tick-_F_igure "_S_anta _C_laus"**

By _T_wilts

All of the snow and cheer and yuletide and baubles of the season seemed to be drifting up from the crack beneath the dungeon door, and the students were hard pressed to ignore the enticing scent of gingerbread cookies for their bottles and test tubes that should have been now bubbling a murky gray color. Trust Snape to pick the one color that is possibly the most lacking in Holiday cheer. Even the studious Gryffindor was finding it a bit difficult to ignore both the warmth that the idea of the Holidays and the increased chilliness of the Dungeons that meant that the lake had a sheer ice cover, now, to match the snow. This, the students knew, was torture. They were almost as sure of that as they were that Frosty could laugh and play just the same as you and me.

Hermione rubbed her eyes to focus them a bit more and tightened the striped Gryffindor scarf whose stiff yarn scratched her neck, but it was a comforting feeling nonetheless. She stared wearily at Snape, who had decided to go through this particular potion step-by-step with the class, because, he said, "their eyes were so full of happiness that it couldn't bode bloody well." Or something of that sort. Even she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

Hogwarts Christmases, well, they had to be the best time of the year. None of the Christmas decorations were up quite yet, but that was because it was only December 15th, nine long days from Christmas eve and a ten even more interminable days from Christmas day, which was sure to bring the festivity of the crackers and wreathes and the delicious feast that the House elves spent the whole month of December to make, allegedly. Just the week before Christmas, the third to last day for the students who would be returning home, they would all wake up to see the hallways lit up with flashing lights, pixies, and enjoy listening to the caroling of the house ghosts, with soloist Grey Lady, in between their lessons, which, at that time, will most likely be insubstantial (unfortunately), because all but Snape would just give up trying to reign in attention. That, if anything, was the one thing that Hermione would change about Christmas: a good, exciting lesson filled with new curriculum to absorb, would be exactly what would complete Hermione's perfect Christmas week. She knew that if she had chosen to give up Hogwarts all those years ago, and just go to a normal private school, she would have gotten such instruction, because muggles didn't quite celebrate Christmas like wizards did. As in love as she was with the comforting Christmases in her own home, and as much as she missed baking cookies with her family and getting powdered white from the flour, she was still in wonderment at the warmth and cheer that her wizarding extended family brought, and at the twelve story trees and the enchanted mistletoe and the piles of presents at the foot of her bed and the way the snow piled up outside the window, covering all of the rolling hills and the forest's trees. Nothing could replace that.

In the boarding school her parents had wanted to go to, the teachers would be left on their own with the decorating, no magic, and no collective decorating. Chances are that half her teachers would continue as normal, sin decorations. And as much as Hermione loved studying, it just wouldn't be the same. And she knew that, and she was glad that her parents eventually allowed her to go.

Sighing in the midst of her Christmas daze, Hermione glanced down at her paper to see a pale and freckled hand that had snuck over to her paper and was currently scratching a wobbly Christmas tree on her parchment with ink that flashed red and green, along with other little doodles that were littering the middle of her page. Gasping, her eyes darted up first to Professor Snape, who was glaring at Harry three tables away.

"_Ronald!_" she hissed, slapping his hand away. He gave her a goofy grin, as always. She frowned at him for a second, just noting how he seemed to radiate some sort of yellow light. She flipped her eyes away, thinking it must just be the Christmas spirit in him or something of the sort.

Grabbing her quill, she wrote in the margin: _Let me be—I need to take notes, this might be important!_

He rolled his eyes, then took his charmed eagle quill and wrote: _What sort of notes are those you're taking, then. Can't bloody see anything about the Rejuvination Potion there._

With a quizzical look, she actually looked at her parchment, and a blush lit her face like wildfire. Right in the middle of carefully noted step six was a Christmas sleigh, complete with jack-in-the-boxes, Raggedy Ann dolls, and packages of all shapes and sizes. Apparently, she'd been in the middle of sketching Santa's hat when she'd spotted Ron. She looked up at him through her slightly outgrown, bushy bangs, and saw his smirk. Happier than Malfoy's smirk, at least. He had some dirt on the side of his nose again, that little idiot.

Hermione scrawled: _You've got some dirt on the side of your nose, did you know?_

Ron rubbed his nose distractedly while he wrote his reply just underneath her own: _Ah, famous first words. Will you be ridiculing my magic now? It's about time I think. What'd you get me for Christmas 'Mione?_

Truth was, she hadn't really bought one yet, seeing as her Christmas shopping weekend was planned for the Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Of course, she'd been planning for about two weeks now on what she would buy, because she couldn't just wander around aimlessly. She'd get nothing done. Ron, though, was hard for her to shop for, and she hadn't been able to think of anything yet. That was okay, though, because as she always said, it's always hardest to shop for those you love most. Hermione drew the poof on Santa's hat and replied: _I've already done enough of that, and you know quite well that I can't possibly tell you!_

Ron's reply: _You could. It's possible._

Hermione rolled her eyes, and looked up at the board to write some more of the steps, regaining some sense. She gasped; they were on step sixteen! She was so behind! She bit back a cry of dismay and bent down over her parchment, attacking it with furious writing. Snape was almost running out of room on his black board, and soon enough he'd erase it all. She couldn't take down the details now, could she?! No, she'd have to ask Harry, or Dean, or someone of the like. Basics would have to suffice. She bit her lip, thinking of the extra studying this'd cost her… and on Christmas, too!

Catching some red and green out of the corner of her eyes, she looked up to see Ron's scrawl again: _Calm bloody down. You can use my notes._

Hermione didn't dignify that with a reply, and cast a copying charm on her parchment, vaguely aware that Ron ws still doodling all over her paper. Snape's scrawl quickly appeared on her parchment, and the notes from the board were made her own. Ron gave an indignant grunt when the precise use of the belladonna poison slashed through his Christmas tree, and he wrote, angrily: _Trust Snape to ruin everything!!!_ And he added an angry smiley face with an overlarge nose. Hermione added some scraggly black lines for hair. Ron added grease, and Hermione giggled at that. She gave him a wart. Ron gave him a silly smile, that looked oddly creepy on the Snapelet. Hermione gave _him_ a Santa hat. Ron added earrings. Hermione gave it a stick figure with hips oddly swung to the left, with one hand on the hip, and when Ron added a strangely feminine Santa's outfit and reindeer whip, it was too much.

They both cracked up.

And Snape glared at them.

And they just laughed harder.

"Enough!" Snape bellowed, they redness of anger coloring his face (for once). "Be silent! Fifteen points from Gryffindor!" Hermione, at the lost points, bit her lip and her face filled with mortification. Ron looked similar, and they sat red-faced, staring at the angry potions master.

After a tense few seconds, Snape deducted more points, just to make him feel better, and spun around. Hermione was submissive and silently took notes, though Ron could've sworn he saw some laughter in his eyes.

Ron wrote again: _He looks better like that._

Hermione glanced up guiltily at Snape, and then wrote next to Ron's comment: _He'd look better in anything._

Ron raised an eyebrow: _There are some things I wouldn't like to see him in._

Hermione flushed.

_Ronald!! _

_Whaat?!_

_Keep your mind out of the gutter! This is Snape we're talking about!_

They paused their furious writing, both glancing about to make sure no one was catching their clandestine conversation.

_My, my, Hermione, I was thinking about one of my mother's Weasley sweaters! What were you thinking about?!_

Hermione glared at him.

Ron wrote: _But, hey, I love a little dirtiness in a girl._

That didn't help. Hermione kicked him soundly in the shin, and Ron's eyes widened and he put his head on his arms to muffle a yelp.

Hermione retorted: _And I love it when I can make a man yelp like you just did. Reminds me of Malfoy, actually._

When Hermione's words sank in like the ink did into the parchment, she reddened yet again, and brought her hands up to her face. Ron scrawled after a moment, the same mischief in his eyes as often was seen in the eyes of Fred and George.

_Like I said, I like some dirtiness in a girl._

Hermione managed to squeak out a mortified, "Ron!"

"What?" he replied, innocence on his face. She didn't reply, but took a deep breath and tried to focus again on the class. Snape was glaring at her, and she was guilty at being caught yet again, but without another outburst, Snape couldn't do anything about Ron and her.

Hermione wrote: _Stop distracting me, Ron!_

Ron paused, and then wrote: _That's hardly fair—you always distract me! I'll stop when you stop._

He resisted saying that that would never happen, but instead took up another quill. Looking over at Hermione for a second, who had returned her full attention to Snape once again (hardly fair, that was), and looked at her frizzy curls and he could almost see her longing to go and romp in the snow. He wrote again: _Sooo… what are you getting me for Christmas?_

She frowned when she noticed his writing, and scribbled a: _That's not going to work._

He grinned: _I knew it wouldn't. But guess what… I know what I'm getting you!_

Hermione rolled her eyes, not swayed by this at all: _Yeah, okay Ron._

Ron wrote: _It's wonderful, it's magnificent, it's beautiful, it's you! You'll love it, I swear!_

Hermione smiled, but didn't write back, and she figured that maybe she wasn't distracting him anymore. The truth of that, though, was questionable.

When they both exited the dungeons, Hermione stuffed her well-doodled notes into her bag, deciding finally that she'd get Ron to help her complete her Christmas by making some cookies with her later that day in the Kitchens, just as her family used to do, and they walked out of the dungeon, into the Great Hall, and felt completely elated at the prospect of the cheer and decorations that would soon run rampant, and took greedy glances outside at the untouched snow they would walk in much later. The three friends were quite ready for another Christmas, whether they learned anything in their classes or not.

It would be a month later that Hermione would reread the conversation, and stop to analyze, as she so much loved to do, and catch sight of the little confession Ron had scribbled in the corner that she hadn't noticed that day, probably when he was drawing his Christmas tree. And she'd analyze his last comment, and she'd make a decision, and she'd get the best mid-January Christmas present yet, better than any decoration she'd seen that Christmas. She first realized that he'd missed a comma. And then she realized that she couldn't blush and have that much innuendo in a conversation with someone she didn't feel the same about. And then she noticed how perfect the decorations were.

_I love you Hermione._

Christmas was made perfect.


End file.
